Scout's Honor
by pgrabia
Summary: Wilson diasappears at a medical conference in the Rockies and House must find him before it's too late! Written for Camp Sick!Wilson on LJ. Spoilers up to S.6:22. H/W pre-slash w/H/Cu & W/S to start. Rated T for language, adult subject matter, violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Scout's Honor**

**Title: Scout's Honor**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

**Warning:** I am attempting to post this at my LJ and then link to it from different communities but I've never done this before so I may screw up on a few attempts before I get it right. I ask for your patience and helpful suggestions while I figure this out!

**Pairing(s): **House/Wilson pre-slash (UST), starting with some House/Cuddy and Wilson/Sam (but ending up H/W.).

**A/N:** A three-part story written in response to The Tic-Tac-Toe Challenge for Camp Sick!Wilson at the Sick!Wilson community at . The locale is set in Banff National Park and the Town of Banff, Alberta, Canada. I've tried to be accurate, but even though I go there every year I am prone to making errors! If you catch any, please forgive me.

UnBeta-ed. All mistakes are completely my own.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story includes spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season 6 Ep. 22 "Help Me". This takes approximately two months after the events of the Season Six season finale.

**Word Count: **5996

**Rating:** **T** for mature themes, sexual language, coarse language, mild violence.

The men sat in the Starbucks in a comfortable silence, sipping at their drinks and watching through the storefront windows as tourists to the mountain resort set deep in the Canadian Rockies walked past in groups or as pairs, hand in hand. Their women were out shopping along the town's Banff Avenue; a dollhouse had been spied in one of the many gift shops that lined the main drag that ran through the town of Banff, Alberta and neither woman could rest until they had investigated their find. Their men, however, had absolutely no interest in gift shops or dollhouses and had only come along to pacify their mates.

"Ten bucks says Cuddy buys it for Rachel," Dr. James Wilson said as he blew on his Caramel Macchiato. He really didn't care what his boss did, but he felt like talking and figured it was as good a conversation starter as any. It had been literally months since Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital's Chief of Oncology had had a chance to sit down outside the setting of the hospital to talk with his best friend of nearly twenty years. He missed their banter and bullshit, which had taken the back burner now that both he and his diagnostician friend were involved in serious romantic relationships which seemed to dominate what free time they had outside of their careers. There had been a time when both men had been single and spent almost all of their free time both at work and at home together; living together had made that a natural state of being. Now they barely saw each other anymore.

Dr. Gregory House looked away from his people-watching to smirk at his friend. "Why don't I just open my wallet and let you pick out the bill you want yourself?"

"Because you didn't bring your wallet, remember?" Wilson retorted bitterly. "You conveniently remembered that you had left it in your hotel room _after_ we ordered our drinks."

The older doctor slurped at his Mocha-Chip Frappuccino before answering. "Oh yeah-forgetful me! I had more interesting things on my mind before we left." He suggestively waggled graying eyebrows over sharp, azure blue eyes.

"Please," the oncologist told him, raising a protesting hand, "if it has anything to do with trying to find Cuddy's thong from wherever you flung it in your…enthusiasm…I really don't want to hear about it. Although, it would explain why you two were twenty minutes late joining Sam and I in the lobby."

"Aww!" House whined like a petulant five-year-old, "but I really wanted you to guess where it ended up! Pleeease!"

Wilson gave him a dirty glare and nothing more as he tentatively took a sip of his steaming coffee. "I didn't think we were going to spend all of our free time between sessions waiting around for Sam and Cuddy like this," He complained after a few moments. "If I'd known I'd have stuck around the hotel and taken in a round of golf on such a beautiful day."

House scowled at him in disbelief. "You've been married how many times and you didn't think we'd lose two women in the first store they hit? I'm disappointed in you! Besides, if you were golfing who would I have to keep me company?"

"You could have ridden along in the golf cart and drank beer while I played?" Wilson suggested, only earning a dirty look from his friend. "O-kay…well, there's pay-per-view porn in every hotel room," Wilson told him. "I would think that would keep you busy for at least, oh, fifteen minutes at least."

"Perish the thought!" the Chief of Diagnostic Medicine told him, feigning shocked indignity. "At least twenty! Besides, some of us don't need to entertain _ourselves_ these days. Of course, if you and Sam have lost a bit of the original spark-."

"We're sparking just fine, thank you very much," Wilson assured him dryly, cutting him off; he couldn't help but frown a little, however. He would never admit it to his friend for fear of being mocked mercilessly, but most of the sparking between Sam and him took place as they argued rather than as they frolicked between the sheets. The first few months after they 'had found each other again', his lovely girlfriend-slash-ex-wife and he had done little else when they were together but make-love, but lately…well, lately the kindling had been a little on the damp side so there hadn't been as much fire as at first. More and more they squabbled over the most ridiculous things, but each row became more and more intense and took longer and longer to forgive and forget. It was a trend that bothered Wilson a great deal; it was far too reminiscent of the last couple of months of their marriage.

Wilson had hoped that this week-long medical conference in romantic Banff National Park would be just the trick to ease some of the tension that had been building up between them and reignite some of the original passion, so he had insisted Dr. Samantha Carr cancel a couple of her seminar dates back in New Jersey and join him on the trip. She had hummed and hawed about coming, waiting until the very last minute to agree. Fortunately Wilson had already made plane reservations in anticipation of a yes; it would have been easier to cancel them at the last minute than to book them. Always 'Be Prepared' was a motto of his that he had stolen from the Boy Scouts; he had never been a Scout himself, he just liked the idea behind the saying.

House had actually been glad to hear that Sam had agreed to tag along. He never did explain the reason for his unusual enthusiasm concerning her presence, but the oncologist had a feeling it had something to do with giving Dr. Lisa Cuddy someone else to play with so the diagnostician could find a few minutes alone to spend with him during the trip. At least, that's what Wilson chose to believe, because that thought had crossed his mind for bringing Sam as well. He wanted to end the estrangement between House and him that had begun the day the older man had found out that Wilson and Sam were seeing each other again.

Wilson was startled from his reverie by the pain caused by House's cane whacking him in the shin. He yelped loud enough to draw the attention of every other customer in the room.

"You okay?" House asked him, frowning with genuine concern, which was an oddity coming from his misanthropic friend. "You turned at least four shades paler than your normal pasty self."

Wilson looked at him in confusion. He had paled? He felt fine, he had just been thinking. Well, there was that persistent gnawing in the pit of his stomach, and the occasional need to vomit, but other than for that, he felt fine.

"Yeah," Wilson told him. Shrugging, "I'm fine. I was just lost in thought. Why, were you talking to me?"

"Shouting at you, to be more precise," House snorted, trying to appear indifferent but unable to completely lose the worry from his eyes. "I thought you were going to faint and fall on your face on the floor; which, come to think of it, would have been the most entertaining thing to occur all day."

Wilson smirked and shook his head. He knew it was House's way of expressing affection.

"Serious, though," the older man said, his eyes scanning him as deeply as any MRI ever could. "You on a diet? You've been swimming in your ties lately."

"It's probably Sam's cooking," Wilson muttered uncharacteristically nastily. "It's tough to keep down sometimes. All whole-grain, non-fat and sugar-free. Sometimes I feel more like a ruminant than a human being."

"Without the four stomachs," House retorted, smirking. "You look like you want to bring up the cud right now and you haven't been eating her cooking for nearly a week."

The oncologist responded, growing uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, "I don't feel nauseous. Look, we've only got one full day left here after today and this is the first time we've been together all week without Cuddy or Sam hanging around—and they're due to be meeting us here very soon. We need to do something while we're still here, _mano a mano_. Like old times."

Pursing his lips briefly, House nodded approvingly. "Interesting deflection; good job!" he sighed and added, "Your idea sounds good. What do you suggest?"

"I saw a brochure back at the Visitor Center for fishing tours," Wilson told him with more enthusiasm than he had felt all week. "What do you say to us hiring a guide, renting some gear and taking in a day of fishing at one of the lakes around here tomorrow rather than attending another set of boring lectures?"

"I don't fish," House told him flatly, looking at the younger man as if he were looking at a lunatic newly escaped from the nearest psych ward.

"You can start," Wilson insisted, trying to sell him on the idea. "Think about it: the fresh air, the peace and quiet-."

"—the mosquitoes, the sunburns," House interjected sarcastically, finishing his thought. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"I'll buy the beer and munchies," the oncologist insisted, trying his hardest to hook his friend by bribing him with booze. "We'll bring insect repellent and sun block. Just Bros, no Hos. We'll get up at the crack of dawn, stuff ourselves with pancakes, eggs and bacon and then hit the liquor store before we leave town!"

"Hmm," House hummed as he pretended to seriously consider Wilson's offer. "The beer sounds right…but no." He sighed, looking almost sad. "I promised Lisa that I'd have lunch with her and a couple of old friends of hers from Michigan State whom she met up with here at the conference. If I want to keep getting morning nookie I don't dare skip out on this—and I _really_ like morning nookie, Wilson! No morning nookie makes Little Greg a very unhappy guy!"

Wilson rolled his eyes and shook his head; he actually felt nauseous at the unwanted mental picture generated in his head by his friend's assertion. "TMI, House, really!. Now I _do_ feel sick." In fact, he felt more than sick; he felt strangely unsettled, irritated and he wasn't certain why.

"Besides," House added, as if he was trying to find additional reasons why it wasn't a good plan outside of Cuddy and himself, "I'm certain Sam wouldn't appreciate you spending the whole day drinking with your 'degenerate' friend."

Sighing, Wilson shook his head. "She never said you were a degenerate, House!"

"Hello?" the diagnostician argued. "And I quote, 'James, I thought you were brighter than that, allowing that _degenerate_ to get you drunk enough to walk home from the bar without your pants', end quote! I suppose she forgot that this degenerate was standing just outside the open door when she said it."

Remembering the incident his friend had just recounted quite well, in spite of the advanced stage of inebriation he had been in at the time, Wilson hung his head a little guiltily.

"House," he began, "I'm sorry about that-!"

"Don't!" the older man told him with quiet resolve and a serious expression, pointing a finger in the younger man's face. "Don't apologize for her! Besides…I don't give a damn what she calls me. The point I was making was she would be unhappy with you spending the entire day with me rather than with her and then she'd give you shit about it the entire flight home. I don't want you to have to face the wrath of the Harpy over little ol' me."

Wilson hated to admit it, but House was right about that; Sam would be incensed and he would have to put up with her petty passive-aggressive punishments the entire way home to Princeton, and probably for a couple of days after that. It pissed him off that she was so jealous and resentful of his friendship with the diagnostician. Sam had known going into this reconciliation that House was a part of his life and always would be; at first she had pretended to be accepting of that and he had been naïve enough to believe that she really was. Shortly before he had asked House to move out of the loft, however, she had begun to allow her resentment of the older man to show; if he was honest with himself, which Wilson rarely was, he would have to admit that her silent pressure on him in this way had led to his decision to ask his best friend to leave. Thinking back on it now, the oncologist felt very much like a skunk for giving in to her that way.

If he was _really_ honest with himself now, he would have to acknowledge the fact that their entire marriage had been silently manipulated by Sam and despite her claims to have changed since then, she hadn't.

"What do you mean by 'little ol'' you?" Wilson asked him suddenly, his voice sharper than he had intended it to be. "You don't think your friendship is important enough to me to be willing to put up with a little flack from _her_?" The oncologist leaned across the table, getting his face into the diagnostician's. "House, you're worth that to me and more. I don't give a damn what Sam has or has not to say about it! You're my best friend—if I want to spend the _entire week_ with you, she has nothing to say about it! Okay?"

House stared back at him, wide-eyed and speechless for several moments before he found his tongue again.

"Okay," the older man answered softly, nodding once, his eyes unwaveringly staring into Wilson's. The oncologist almost smiled when he saw a look of…was it? Could it be? It _was_. Wilson saw a very brief glimmer of joy in those blue orbs looking back at him.

They stared at each other for what seemed forever that way before the sound of two shrill female laughs cut through the air, breaking up the moment instantly. Both men looked up distractedly to see their respective girlfriends walk into the coffee shop carrying shopping bags and laughing over some private joke or another—probably at their boyfriends' expense. Cuddy sauntered up to House, set her bags onto the floor at her feet and then pressed a kiss to his lips. Wilson looked away uncomfortably at the smile that spread across his best friend's face. Sam walked up to the oncologist and placed a quick peck on his cheek; he was actually glad about that brief show of affection—her lipstick, which she applied quite liberally onto her large lips, tasted like some kind of toxic chemical soup and he was certain it was safer on his skin than in his mouth and down his throat into his body. Wilson raised his hand to his face and quickly wiped off the coral pink goop.

"I'm glad to find you two still here," the blonde told the men with an impudent smirk, behind which Wilson knew what a hidden scowl. "I have expected to be searching the bars for you!"

"Since when do I drink before noon?" Wilson asked defensively; the tone of his voice drew startled stares from House and Cuddy. His girlfriend glared warningly at the oncologist but forced a smile onto her lips.

"Uh," Cuddy spoke up quickly, exchanging a quick glance with the diagnostician. "We should probably head back to the hotel and have lunch before this afternoon's general assembly. If we leave now we should have enough time."

"Good idea," House said with a nod, unusually agreeable. "I'm starving!"

"You're always starving!" Cuddy told him with an amused frown. She pressed another kiss to House's lips, lingering a little longer this time; Wilson could have sworn he saw the older man stiffen slightly and roll his eyes.

The younger man felt queasy and looked away. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before rising a little too quickly to his feet. His vision was overcome with white snow, there was a painful buzz in his head, and he felt like he was spinning. He felt himself fall back into the chair and then felt two pairs of hands on his left arm and shoulders. Gradually his vision cleared and the buzz went away. Wilson saw both House's and Sam's faces in front of him. His girlfriend looked puzzled and his best friend looked concerned. House seemed to be searching the younger man's eyes for something.

"Take it easy!" House told him gruffly but his voice was quiet and his hands on Wilson's shoulders gripped him gently. "Breathe slowly. You're white as a sheet!"

Wilson shook his head and frowned angrily, feeling very self-conscious.

"I'm fine," he muttered, swallowing hard. "I just got up too quickly, suffered a drop in B.P.; nothing to worry about. I'm probably just a little dehydrated-too much coffee, not enough water."

"I'll go grab you some," he heard Cuddy say and then heard her shoes click away. House didn't release his hold on his shoulders but Sam let go of his arm and backed up a few steps. She crossed her arms across her chest.

"James," she 'tsked', shaking her head disapprovingly, "how many times have I told you to reduce your caffeine and alcohol intake? They both are very dehydrating."

"You nag about it all the time," the oncologist sniped bitterly, looking down at his hands in his lap. "I'm fine, House-really. Quit looking at me like I'm one of your puzzles to figure out. I'm dehydrated and hungry; no puzzle here."

Obviously unconvinced, the diagnostician released his hold on his friend nevertheless and stood up straight. He frowned down at Wilson, silent. It was obvious House didn't believe a word he said. The younger man heard the clicking again as Cuddy returned carrying a sweating bottle of spring water. She handed it to him and he smiled up at her.

"Thanks," Wilson told her and then twisted off the cap and gulped down a couple of mouthfuls of the cold liquid. It felt good as it flowed down his dry throat and after a few more swallows he felt like a new man. "I feel better already. Let's go get some food into me as well!"

Wilson rose more slowly to his feet this time and without incident. The two couples made their way back to one of the several public parking lots that were scattered across the town and drove the rental car back to the _Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel_ where the medical convention was being held and they had rooms. Each couple made their way to their respective rooms to freshen up and change before meeting again at the _Rundle Lounge_ located in the hotel for lunch. They had a little over an hour to eat before the next assembly.

"(~*~)"

Once again it was Wilson and Sam waiting on House and Cuddy to arrive. They had been seated at a table next to a wall of windows looking out over the incredible vista of the Bow Valley nestled between majestic snow-capped mountain ranges on three sides. Instead of talking with Sam as they waited, the oncologist practically had his nose pressed against the glass that separated him from the incredible beauty outside. In fact, they hadn't spoken a single word from the time they parted from House and Cuddy in the hotel lobby until now. It was ever increasingly that way between them.

A server came and took a drink order from them while they waited for their lunch companions. Sam ordered a non-alcoholic Pomegranate Lime Fresh while Wilson ordered a draught, not surprisingly to his girlfriend's disapproval; she approved of very little he did so the oncologist had decided not to care about what she liked and didn't like anymore. It was becoming too stressful trying to read her mind.

Ten minutes after their arrival, the two tardy doctors joined them. Wilson saw House look at the nearly empty glass of beer in front of him without any expression or word. The diagnostician ordered himself a bottle of Heineken while Cuddy ordered a tall club soda with lime on ice.

Things were very quiet at the table as they looked over their menus and when their server returned to take their food orders Wilson ordered a double scotch neat before staring out the window again. He didn't feel much like eating and he really didn't feel much like socializing; his stomach hurt again. What he really wanted to do was to take a long walk outside in the fresh mountain air and try, for a while, to forget how dissatisfied he was with his life lately.

Every day he woke up with a sense of dread for the day ahead, went through the motions at work, sat alone in his office at lunch while House would regularly eat lunch with Cuddy either in his office or hers. On a couple of occasions House had invited him to join them but Wilson had always felt uncomfortable doing so, being the third wheel, so to speak, and had found an excuse why he couldn't each time. He knew that House never once bought his excuses, but nor did the older man press the issue, either. Sam went to the gym at lunch most days, not that Wilson was complaining; he was a big boy and didn't need to have his hand held as he ate—although most times he would think wistfully about the lunches he used to share with (have stolen by)the diagnostician and miss those days more than he ever thought he would.

After work he'd poke his head into House's office long enough to say goodnight before driving home to an empty loft apartment and wait for his girlfriend to stroll in around seven at night. Sometimes she had already caught a bite to eat with one of her girlfriends and so he ate alone while she watched him and picked at the nutritional value of his meals or interrogated him about his day. He'd usually end up on the couch, drinking beer until he was buzzed, with Sam glaring at him every so often as she watched some inane evening talk or reality show; feigning exhaustion, he would excuse himself and go to bed alone. On the odd occasion that Sam came to bed at the same time, they might have sex before sleep, but it was just as likely that they wouldn't. He usually fell asleep wondering if the next day would hold any more excitement than the one he'd just completed, knowing that chances were it would not.

He was in a rut; Wilson knew that his relationship with Sam was on the ropes and he not only didn't know how to save it, he wasn't certain he wanted to. He smirked to himself. House had been right. House was _always_ right, and it made him sick. What was there for Wilson once it was over between Sam and him? He would be alone. He had driven House away and caused their growing estrangement; now that House had Cuddy, the older man had no need to be kept company and entertained by him. He had someone to take care of him and keep him out of trouble. Wilson needed to be needed by somebody, and there was no one left who did.

Their food came and Wilson ordered another scotch as well. He tried to ignore the slight frowns which had broken out on the diagnostician's and Sam's faces; he was more concerned about the older man's reaction than hers. He picked at his food, taking a few obligatory bites and washed each one down with his drink, which was much more appealing to him than the untouched water at his place. The conversation was light and mindless and was dominated mostly by the women with House occasionally throwing in the odd sarcastic response to something that was said or an original insult about a few of the other diners around them; the diagnostician looked bored out of his skull. Wilson barely said two words the entire time.

After their meals were cleared away, his mostly untouched, the dessert menus were brought to them. Having no appetite, Wilson finished his scotch and then rose carefully, excusing himself and making his way to the men's room seeking a few minutes of refuge. He used the urinal and then entered a booth and simply sat there, without using the toilet and took a few deep breaths. He could feel the effects of the alcohol on his basically empty stomach, burning away like the pits of Hell. His head was beginning to swim and his heart ached. All he wanted to do was run away.

He heard the bathroom door open a few times as different patrons came and went. The bathroom was empty but for him for a few minutes; Wilson was about to emerge from the booth when he heard the door open and the familiar syncopated foot and cane fall enter, take a few steps inside and then pause. The oncologist held onto his breath for a bit, waiting for House to speak. When he didn't, Wilson exhaled loudly, flushed the unused toilet and then emerged from the booth and moved deliberately to the sink, saying nothing to the tall, ruggedly handsome man watching his every move without comment. As he washed his hands, Wilson avoided House's gaze. He turned off the sink and then went to grab a paper towel to dry his hands. As he reached out to toss the towel into the garbage receptacle, the older man grabbed his wrist and held it firmly.

Wilson couldn't help but look up at his friend with empty dark brown eyes and sigh. House's penetrating gaze met his.

"Liquid lunches aren't easy on the stomach," the diagnostician told him with an air of authority. "They're lousy for dehydration, too."

Looking down at House's grip on his wrist, Wilson tried to free his arm but House wouldn't let go.

"You sound just like Sam," the younger man said quietly, an angry edge to his voice. He tugged his arm ineffectively. "Let go."

"Not until you tell me what the hell is wrong with you!" House replied, his voice just as quiet and angry. When Wilson didn't reply House released his grip on the oncologist's arm and grabbed his chin tightly in one hand, forcing him to look into the mirror.

"Let go of me, House!" Wilson growled but the other man ignored him, stepping up behind him and loosely pinning him against the vanity.

"Look at yourself!" the older man commanded, his eyes blazing. "Really _look_ at yourself!" Wilson diverted his eyes rebelliously.

"Let's do a differential, shall we? First, the symptoms being presented: Compared to your normally anal attention to your appearance you're practically disheveled; You're pale, you've lost weight everywhere but around your middle, you've been hiccupping on and off all week, I haven't seen you eat an entire meal yet this trip but you're drinking heavier than I've seen you do in years. Low B.P., dizziness, mood swings, stiffness of the joints when you move, and I'll bet you a hundred bucks you've been vomiting up coffee grounds! Look at the whites of your eyes—damnit Wilson! Look! Their turning yellow! It's yellow under your tongue too, isn't it?"

When Wilson refused to speak House jabbed the handle of his cane with moderate strength into the upper right quadrant of the oncologist's abdomen, just under the rib cage. Wilson gasped at the intense pain that nearly incapacitated him and caused him to double over. He felt dizzy and vomited involuntarily into the sink; the coffee grounds that were blood proteins denatured by the acid in his stomach told tales on the younger man.

House reached with one of his long arms and grabbed a handful of paper towels, handing them to Wilson; he then moved aside, unpinning him. When the waves of pain and nausea passed, Wilson ran water into the sink to wash the vomit down the drain. He cupped a handful of the flowing water and scooped in into his mouth and swished. Spitting that out, he turned off the tap and then wiped his mouth with the towels.

"Now the differential!" House said harshly, but his face no longer looked angry. It looked worried. "Any suggestions, Wonder-Boy Oncologist? Hmm? No? How about alcohol-induced gastritis and hepatitis to start? Sound familiar, _Doctor_?"

"Shut up, House!" Wilson said warningly, feeling his anger grow. How dare he follow him into the men's room only to assault him and then judge him for having a few drinks now and then to settle his nerves! He, of all people, had no right to be self-righteous when it came to heavy drinking! House had practically made it an official Olympic sport! Besides, it wasn't like the older man really cared about him anymore. He and Little Greg had their new life with Cuddy; nookie morning day and night! Intimate lunches together every day! Quiet, domesticated evenings at home changing diapers, washing the dishes, taking out the trash and fucking each other's brains out after Rachel went to sleep for the night!

_You pushed him away first_, Wilson's conscience told him. _You put Sam first, you tried to move on with your life—why shouldn't he have the same right?_ The oncologist moaned silently—this was yet another thing he wasn't ready to be honest with himself about.

"It wasn't enough to have half of your liver cut out for an ingrate," the older man continued lecturing cynically, "but now you have to pickle the rest of it before it's even completely healed? Oh well, you'll probably bleed to death from your stomach lining long before what's left of your liver begins to fail!"

"I don't need to listen to this!" Wilson growled, feeling his head begin to throb, his face turn hot and red and hearing the blood rush through his veins so loudly that they were beginning to drown the diagnostician out. The oncologist had to get out and away from the older man before he ended up smashing his fist into the other man's face. He moved quickly towards the door but House blocked his way, moving surprisingly quickly for a cripple.

"How much and how often have you been drinking and for how long has this been going on?" the diagnostician demanded of him. "Every day? More than three drinks a day? More than five? For a month? Since you kicked me out of the loft? Do you feel anxious without it? Damn it, Wilson! If you're so damned miserable with Sam then do something about it but don't try to kill yourself slowly like this!"

"What the hell do you care?" Wilson yelled in his friend's face, unable to restrain himself anymore. "I've barely seen or _heard_ from you for over two months! I try to call you but you're never at your apartment and when I try to call you at Cuddy's all I ever get is her voicemail! At work, when you're not working on a case you're hanging out in her office or obediently working in the clinic with your tail between your legs! When we _do_ talk it's all about your favorite sexual positions with our boss! I tried to make plans with you for tomorrow, but you're tied up having lunch with people you don't even know in order to keep Cuddy happy and the sex flowing!

"You want to know how much I've been drinking? Fine! Every day, four or five drinks a night! Sometimes more! I keep a bottle in my bottom desk drawer for when things get to be a little too much at work and a flask in my jacket pocket for the rest of the time! I can't wait to get home to drink. Some nights I don't bother returning to the loft at all. I go to some bar and drink myself shitfaced until I get cut off; I don't bother calling Sam for a ride because she's probably already mellowed out on the Valium she pops like Tic-Tacs! I quit trying to call you after the third time I got a recording. I try to walk back to the apartment but I usually find myself the next morning passed out in some alley or door well somewhere! I can't even begin to tolerate Sam's harping and complaining unless I have a serious buzz going first. I don't want to end it with her because once she's gone, I'm all alone; I've tried my damnedest to talk to you about this, but you're never available anymore! So don't stand here so self-righteously and lecture me about ruining my health because you know what, House? I don't give a _flying fuck_ about my health or anything else anymore. I've fucked up my life—again! You were right—you're _always_ right! But don't worry, it's not like I'm your concern so go back to the table and have dessert with Cuddy—and and do what you do best these days: Leave me the hell alone!"

With that, Wilson shoved House aside and marched out of the bathroom, not sticking around long enough to see the Diagnostician trip and hit the wall, nearly falling to the floor. He didn't return to the table but instead stormed out of the lounge altogether, hurrying as quickly as he could without running back to his room like a little girl having a hissy-fit. Fuck the general assembly! Fuck the conference and fuck House, too! He felt tears of anger and pain sting his eyes but he'd be damned if he gave anyone the satisfaction of seeing him cry! Besides, he knew he didn't deserve anyone's sympathy; he'd brought this all down on himself!

He was glad when he reached the room he and Sam shared without being followed. Wilson didn't want to hear any more lectures or sarcastic remarks made at his expense. He dug through the pockets of his suitcase and pulled out a brandy flask filled with bourbon, a little trick he'd learned from House. He shoved it into the inner pocket of his light jacket, exchanging it for an empty one, which he packed away in the suitcase. He then changed his clothes, donning a grey polo and a pair of comfortable jeans, sports socks and a pair of running shoes. Shrugging on his jacket, Wilson then grabbed the keys to the rental car and left the room, heading down to the main lobby. A valet approached him automatically and Wilson handed him the keys. Within a matter of minutes the hotel worker pulled up to the front doors in Wilson's car and then hopped out of the driver's seat so the oncologist could hop in.

Driving without a destination in mind, the oncologist simply pulled out onto Spray Avenue, the main road leading from the Fairmont Banff Springs to touristy Banff Avenue which he followed out of town and headed towards the Trans Canada Highway. He'd heard a couple of other conference attendees talk about a nice lake with hiking trails just across the highway. It sounded just like the place he wanted to be just then. Instead of turning off onto the main highway back to Calgary he kept on the road he was on; a road sign said that he was heading in the direction of Lake Minnewanka and Two Jack Lake. He recognized the latter as being the location he had overheard being talked about. Wilson followed the road signs until he found himself pulling into the day use area along the lakefront of a pristine mountain lake.

He parked the rental in the designated area, jumped out and walked towards the shore.

**End Part One**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: Scout's Honor**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

**Pairing(s): **House/Wilson pre-slash (UST), starting with some House/Cuddy and Wilson/Sam (but ending up H/W.).

**A/N:** A three-part story written in response to The Tic-Tac-Toe Challenge for Camp Sick!Wilson at the Sick!Wilson community at . The prompts were: dollhouse, running shoes and rainstorm. The locale is set in Banff National Park and the Town of Banff, Alberta, Canada. I've tried to be accurate, but even though I go there every year I am prone to making errors! If you catch any, please forgive me.

UnBeta-ed. All mistakes are completely my own.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story includes spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season 6 Ep. 22 "Help Me". This takes approximately two months after the events of the Season Six season finale.

**Word Count: **5996

**Rating:** **R** (to be safe) for mature themes, sexual language, coarse language, mild violence.

**Part Two**

A cool wind had picked up since before lunch, and a few clouds had rolled in but the sun was still shining and warm against Wilson's face. The surface of Two Jack Lake rippled and rolled with the wind, obscuring the reflection of the mountains. He could hear the blowing air rustle the leaves of the odd deciduous tree and whisper around the triangular forms of pine and black spruce. He found a picnic table and sat down, just allowing the raw beauty of the landscape to soothe his upset soul. He forced thoughts about Sam and House out of his mind, trying to keep it a blank slate for nature to write upon.

After a little while he got up from the picnic table and sauntered past a small family of four having a picnic, the only other human beings he'd seen since his arrival. He followed a sign that indicated that there were walking trails up ahead. He figured a nice hike would be just the thing to clear his head and elevate his spirit. He located one of the paths, just a foot-trodden dirt depression that wound around, between and over trees and tree trunks and small bushes. He followed it, walking carefully to make certain that he didn't trip over any tree roots and other underbrush as he went along. It was incredibly quiet except for the wind in the trees, the bird song overhead, the crunch of leaves and twigs under his feet and the odd chattering of brown squirrels and chipmunks as they scurried along the ground or ran up and down trees. He was used to living in the predominantly urbanized environment that was New Jersey and was never far away from the sounds of motor vehicles and air travel roaring around and overhead.

He felt so at ease there and was glad that he had decided to get away from the antagonists of his life for a while and just walk in peace and simply…_be_. The path he'd been following branched off three ways and he had to choose which path to take. A smile crossed his lips as he stepped out and along the one that seemed the least established, the poetic words of Robert Frost whispering in his ears. That path eventually forked as well. He went left, thinking that it was the path that would lead him out of the thick bush and back along the lakefront. After several minutes of walking Wilson discovered that he had been mistaken. He found himself moving deeper into the woods.

Stopping in an attempt to get his bearings, Wilson found a fallen log and sat down on it to rest a while. While of course there was shade from the trees, it seemed to him that it was getting darker that what could be explained away as the canopy cover, and the temperature felt like it had dropped several degrees in the past twenty minutes or so. He could hear the wind begin to whistle through the forest as it picked up strength, adding to the feeling of the ambient temperature falling. He checked his watch; the oncologist had been hiking for a good hour, and figured it was probably time to head back to the rental car and return to the hotel. Wilson took a couple of good pulls from the flask he carried and then tucked it back into his pocket. He began to backtrack, but quickly realized he must have taken a wrong turn, because as he proceeded nothing looked familiar and he could hear what sounded like a rushing stream flowing over rocks. The further he went, the louder the sound became until he found himself entering a break in the trees and standing on the back of a fast-flowing mountain stream. It wasn't very wide and didn't look very deep. He came to realize that he had gotten himself lost.

_Shit!_ Wilson thought to himself angrily. _What an incredibly stupid thing to do! What kind of idiot ventures out all by himself into unknown terrain without keeping closer track of where he is going? _He blamed his poor judgment on the beer, two double scotches and few swallows of bourbon.

He didn't have a compass or a map, his cell phone was useless out there in the middle of nowhere, and nobody back at the hotel knew where he was. The sky overhead had clouded completely over while he was in the bush and the dark grey sky began to spit cold raindrops down at him.

Somebody upstairs really didn't like him, he decided bitterly. Wilson shook his head, unable to believe how quickly the weather had changed! He wondered if that was something that typically happened in the mountains, or it was just another example of his bad luck. It was getting cold out, and his light-duty jacket wasn't doing a very good job against the rain or cold.

One thing Wilson did know was that he had to pee and the influx of water all around him didn't help matters. Sighing, he found himself a spot and took care of business. After he stepped back towards the stream, edged slowly and carefully towards the edge and knelt carefully on the wet rocks. He stuck his hands into the stream to wash them and jerked them back suddenly in surprise. The water was ice cold! Just a few seconds in it would easily numb his hands. He made very quick work of rinsing his hands in the water and then rubbed them dry on his jeans. He surveyed his surroundings, trying to figure out what his best bet would be to find his way back to the day use area as quickly as possible. The rain was really beginning to come down and he could hear distant thunder echo between the mountains.

Great, a rainstorm was moving in. That was all Wilson needed. He decided that his best bet would be to backtrack to the fallen log he'd rested at and then take the other path at the fork. That one would likely lead him back to the better worn paths that would take him back to his car. It was worth a shot anyway. Anything was better than standing in the middle of a forest or along a stream during a thunderstorm in the cold, pouring rain waiting to be attacked and eaten by a bear. Not wanting to dwell too long on that particular mental image, the oncologist rose quickly to his full height—far too quickly—and was once again struck by lightheadedness. He felt himself drift in dizziness, then felt his footing on the smooth, wet rocks beneath him give way. He began to fall while at the same time his left foot slid between two rocks, jamming and wedging itself there as the full weight of his body propelled him sideways into the stream. He heard the stomach-turning crunch of his ankle breaking a split second before the screaming agony shot up his leg to his spine and then to his brain, stunning him. He heard himself scream as if he were outside of himself.

One of the rocks at his ankle gave way enough for his foot to be freed, and before Wilson's mind could register any other kind of rational thought he found himself being swallowed up by the flowing, churning ice water. He hadn't been prepared to be immersed completely, so he had failed to catch his breath quickly enough and took frigid water into his lungs. He thrashed about wildly with no coordination amongst his four limbs as he fought to find and break through the water surface. Once his head broke through he tried to take in a breath but couldn't displace the water that was in his bronchial tubes which made further inhalation next to impossible. Put simply, he was drowning.

He coughed and coughed, water being brought up a little at a time and allowing in just enough air to enable further coughing and further gasps for breath. The water hadn't looked nearly deep enough to completely immerse him in but he'd been wrong. Wilson felt the strong current pulling him away from the rocky edge and begin to carry him down stream. He fought against the current, but between his gasps for breath, the ice cold water quickly numbing his extremities and the speed of the water, he was losing the battle. The cold was so intense that it wasn't only causing him to lose feeling in his arms and legs; it was also numbing his mind. He couldn't think straight and it occurred to him that this was the way he was going to die; not from gastritis or liver failure but by drowning in an icy mountain river in Canada, all alone with no one having any idea that it was happening or even where he was or would end up.

His survival instinct suddenly kicked in, and a long forgotten piece of trivia stored deep in the recesses of his mind flashed before his consciousness; the only way to reach the shore was to quit fighting the current; instead he had to swim perpendicular to the direction of the flow.

He focused on having his mind command his limbs to work, hoping that they were, in fact, stroking and kicking since he couldn't actually feel them doing so. He felt tired and confused but by sheer force of will he was fighting for his life and succeeding. It seemed like an eternity but at some point Wilson could see that the river's edge was within reach. He flailed wildly, trying to grab onto a boulder or tree root—anything—to pull himself from the death grip of the water. After several tries he managed to snag onto a low-lying tree branch extending slightly over the stream. His hands were numb but somehow he managed to keep holding on tightly enough to stop him from being carried any further downstream. He felt like he had absolutely no strength left, but he couldn't give up, he knew. Not yet. He was just about on land!

Gritting his teeth Wilson summoned every ounce of strength left in his frozen, battered body and began to pull himself out of the water, slowly, little bit by little bit until he was able to grasp onto dirt and roots a rock outcroppings and drag himself, finally, onto dry land. He collapsed the moment he was completely clear, flat on his stomach, his face in the detritus and dirt of the forest floor. He coughed and sputtered, bringing up water from his lungs and bloodied vomit from his enflamed stomach. He inched forward so that his face wasn't resting in his own sick and then was perfectly still again, panting and gasping for air. He was cold, so very cold.

Wilson figured that he had pulled himself out of the river only to die in the elements on terra firma. He was certain that he would never see another human being again and wanted more than anything at that moment to have House there with him so that he wouldn't have to die all alone. His last thought before he succumbed to the darkness of unconsciousness was that he would never get the chance to tell House that he loved him while he had the chance….

(~*~)

House sat on the end of the row of seats so that he could stretch out his damaged leg into the aisle to prevent it from cramping up during the seemingly unending stream of presentations and keynote speakers. Next to him Cuddy sat enraptured by whatever it was the speaker was going on and on about; House had no idea what it was because he hadn't been able to pay attention to anything but his own worried thoughts spinning around in his head. Next to Cuddy was an empty seat. The Harpy had decided to skip the afternoon's official events to 'soothe her anger' at being abandoned by her 'drunk boyfriend' in the warmth of the mineral bath at the hotel spa. She'd turned her fangs on House when he had returned from the men's room alone, accusing his history of heavy drinking of 'tainting James and teaching him this kind of irresponsible behavior'.

House hadn't cared about what that bitch had had to say, but it had hurt when Cuddy had nodded along with her words sympathetically and had failed to speak in his defense; there really wasn't one, but that wasn't the point. Her silence had been a sign of tacit agreement with what Sam had said. Of course, he hadn't shown any reaction to this; he was a master at hiding what he was really feeling inside and he wasn't about to give the women the satisfaction of knowing that they had scored a painful point against him. Instead he'd made snide comments and waited a few minutes before excusing himself from the table and the lounge. He'd gone to look for Wilson but hadn't been able to locate him before Cuddy had found the diagnostician and literally dragged him to the open assembly.

He cursed himself for not standing up to his girlfriend who was also his boss; technically he was there on hospital time and coin and therefore she was his employer more than his lover while they were there. They had grudgingly agreed that at work he listened to her and was her subordinate and at home they were equals and he had been so determined to prove himself to her and make their relationship work that he had been nearly killing himself to stick to his word. His bottom lip and tongue were practically hamburger after months of biting off sarcastic, cynical and outright angry remarks and protests at work and at home.

Cuddy hadn't shown a lot of give on her side of the equation, either; she hadn't yet relaxed any of her rules and expectations of him in either area of their relationship and he felt as if he was being kept on a very short leash most of the time. She expected him to drop everything at a moment's notice to babysit Rachel whenever she got a call from the hospital or something else 'urgent' occurred and she had to leave for a few hours. He wouldn't have minded doing so occasionally if she'd asked him rather told him and hadn't mentioned on a couple of occasions that Lucas had never complained about it. He had allowed himself to be cowed and domesticated by her; her wanted her to be happy. Along the way he had forgotten that he was supposed to be happy, too. He wasn't. He wasn't unhappy, really, but the happiness he had hoped he would find with her had been for the most part elusive. It existed only during and for a little while after the phenomenal sex they had but it was temporary and incomplete at best.

_The great Gregory House, hen-pecked,_ he grumbled to himself in disdain. His blue eyes leered at her lovely face and incredible body (every inch of which he had memorized by now) and he felt horny, not happy. He certainly loved her; of that there was no doubt, but he was beginning to wonder if love alone was enough. He wondered if mutual respect, trust and genuine communication weren't just as vital to the survival of their relationship—and his happiness—as love.

It occurred to him then and there that he loved her, but he wasn't _in_ love with her. Well, actually he had known _that_ from day one but he had convinced himself almost completely that falling _in_ love with her would be inevitable; now he was convinced that it hadn't been and would not ever be. But things were pleasant enough, usually and the sex—_goddamn_ the sex was great!—and being with someone was a hell of a lot better than being all alone. She was there for him, at least; Wilson used to be there for him but was with Sam now. Being with Cuddy was sufficient, or at least it had been before this trip; after seeing how Wilson was truly faring and listening to his heartbreaking confession earlier combined with the diagnostician's own deep concern over his friend's deteriorating health, he had come to the conclusion that it wasn't anymore.

_Shit!_ He exclaimed in his head. _What the hell do I do now?_

Cuddy must have sensed that he was looking at her because she turned her head to look right back at him. She gave him a puzzled expression and small smile, then returned her attention back to the speaker. House sighed audibly and then grabbed his cane from where he'd hung it over the back of his seat and stood up to leave. Cuddy caught his wrist.

"Where are you going?" she demanded in a whisper loud enough for everyone in their row and the two rows ahead and behind to hear as well.

"My leg's cramping up," he lied, pulling gently against her grip, but she didn't let go-short leash indeed! "Gotta walk it off."

"It's almost over. Wait until then!"

"What was that?" he responded, feigning deafness. "Sorry, didn't catch that. Got to walk, now!" He yanked his arm more forcibly this time and freed himself from her ever-tightening grip, quickly limping up the aisle before he could be stopped again. He stepped out of the banquet hall into the brighter lit foyer outside and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He hadn't been completely lying about his leg; it had been hurting considerably more since lunch than it had been all week. He didn't think it was due to Wilson's shove; he really hadn't pushed House all that hard, he hadn't hit his right leg against anything and he had caught himself before he fell. After all, it could have been worse. Wilson had a wicked left hook. House's hand rubbed and kneaded at the damaged thigh muscle in his leg. He reached into the pocket of his sports jacket and pulled out a bottle ibuprofen. He dry-swallowed three of them then slipped the bottle back into his pocket.

House tried to come up with an idea of where the oncologist would have gone while in the state of mind he had been earlier. His first thought was, naturally, a bar or lounge somewhere. It was difficult for House to admit to himself that Wilson was abusing alcohol, perhaps even becoming dependent on it, to get through his day. The diagnostician had known that things with Sam would crash and burn eventually and had tried to warn Wilson of that before he had become too deeply involved with his ex-wife, but he hadn't expected this. All of the anger and resentment he'd held for the younger man for pushing him aside in favor of the Harpy was now completely gone. The only thing he cared about was finding Wilson and helping him through this. Wilson had been there for him during his drug addiction, heavy drinking and illnesses; the diagnostician would now be there for him, whether the younger man wanted him to be or not—but first he had to locate him.

He'd pounded on Wilson's hotel room door until other guests threatened to call security; he'd searched all of the lounges in the main resort with no luck. That didn't mean that he wasn't there, but House doubted it. He went to the front desk and asked if he had left any messages with them but he hadn't. House had the desk call the golf course to see if he'd been there but he hadn't checked in; he wasn't drinking in the clubhouse, either_._ He went to the liquor store on the premises, but the clerk there told him that no one matching Wilson's description had been in there all day. With each unsuccessful search the diagnostician's concern intensified.

_Damnit, Wilson_, He yelled internally, _where the hell have you gone?_

Obviously, he'd left the hotel property. He'd likely driven into the town to find a bar or lounge there to tank up at, and there were a good number of them. It seemed like an insurmountable task to search them all with his leg screaming at him like it was but he knew he had to at least try. At the front desk he inquired about the rental car and, as he had suspected, it was gone. House obtained a list of restaurants and bars in Banff and then arranged to rent a car of his own. He was about to set out when he looked out a window and saw that the sky had clouded over with some nasty looking steel grey clouds and it had begun to rain. Well, that explained the increased pain in his leg. He'd need a jacket. House made his way painfully back to his Cuddy's and his room where he changed into a t-shirt and pulled a sweatshirt over top, and changed out of the dress trousers Cuddy had insisted he wear into a comfortable pair of familiar jeans. Almost as an afterthought he went to the desk and pulled out a complimentary sheet of writing paper and a pen and quickly scrawled out a short note to let Cuddy know what he was doing. _Ah, domestication!_ he sighed wearily.

Grabbing his black leather jacket he hurriedly left the room and made his way down to where his rental car was waiting for him. He got into the car, spread out the map of Banff and the list across the passenger seat and then set out on his hunt. One by one he hit the various locations on the list and one by one he crossed them off, not finding Wilson at any of them. After ten stops House had to rest in the car for a while because of his leg. He couldn't shut out the mental images of his friend passed out somewhere, dying from internal bleeding from the gastritis, acute liver failure from the hepatitis or simply from drunkenness.

He chastised himself for allowing his emotions to cloud his thinking. He had to operate on logic if he was going to find the other man.

A bright flash, a crack of thunder and the sudden increase to the strength of the rain falling brought the diagnostician's mind back to attention. He knew that sudden weather changes were not uncommon in the mountains, which made it quite hazardous at times for those outdoors-types who enjoyed the varied pursuits available to them in the area.

Then it hit House like a shot between two wide-open blue eyes.

Wilson's words echoed in his ears: _What do you say to us hiring a guide, renting some gear and taking in a day of fishing at one of the lakes around here tomorrow…?_

There was another flash of lightening followed shortly after by a crack and rumble of thunder. The rain was coming down nearly by the bucketful.

"You idiot…you didn't…, did you?" House whispered out loud, feeling his stomach flip in anxiety. The answer was plainly obvious now. "Fuck! Of _course_ you did!" he added in a growl.

House checked his map and located the local police station, then started the car, yanked the gear shift into reverse and hit the accelerator, nearly hitting another vehicle as he pulled out of his parking spot and spun his tires on the wet pavement before peeling out of the public lot.

("~*~")

It was intermission when Cuddy headed up to her room in her quest to locate House. She really didn't expect to find him there since it would be one of the most obvious places for her to look, much like Wilson's office was at work—or rather, had been at one point but no longer. She had managed to wean him off of his almost obsessive compulsion to be around the oncologist since they had begun dating. Now he had lunches with her, spent his evenings when he didn't have a case with Rachel and her and didn't get into nearly the amount of mischief he used to when he and Wilson had been roommates. It was…nice, peaceful. House had surprised her with how hard he was trying to keep her happy. She knew that the diagnostician wasn't always keen about what she asked of him at work and in his off hours, but all it took to keep him in line was to remind him about how he had promised to do his best to make this thing they had work.

Cuddy knew that he'd do just about anything to avoid ending up on the floor of his bathroom with a couple of Vicodin tablets in his hand all alone again. As a leader, she knew just how effective providing the proper motivation to a person was in influencing him to do what she wanted him to do. It was basic Psychology 101. It's not like her 'influence' was hurting him; on the contrary, she was doing him a favor. He was becoming a more responsible, respectable man with her—and god knew how eager he was to please when it meant he could get into her pants and wake up occasionally in her bed rather than going without and waking up alone in his bed across town from hers.

She had thanked Sam earlier, as they had been shopping, for entering Wilson's life and helping Wilson escape his codependent relationship with House. If Wilson had been available for him following the Trenton disaster, House wouldn't have been desperately alone, in need of Cuddy's love and willing to do just about anything for her. Not only had the Dean of Medicine got the man she really wanted in her bed, but he had become agreable enough that she hadn't had to worry about having him around her daughter—and as a bonus, he gave her fewer headaches at the hospital as well.

At the room she wasn't surprised to find it empty. There was, however, a letter left on her pillow from him. She read it over twice:

_L,_

_Went to look for Wilson. He's sick. I'm to blame for fucking up my priorities, but that's going to change. Enjoy the rest of the conference without me._

_G._

Cuddy closed her eyes and took a deep breath before blowing it out slowly through her mouth. Well, apparently she was going to have to do a little more molding with him and it pissed her off; she enjoyed the sex as much as he did.

(~*~)

"Are you certain your friend went fishing this afternoon?" the R.C.M.P constable working the reception desk asked the diagnostician, a serious expression on her face. House glanced at her name badge. J. Buissman. "Did he tell you or leave a note?"

House sighed, rolling his eyes. "No, he didn't say as much and he didn't leave a note. That's why I've been hunting for him—but I know him better than anyone else on this planet. He wanted us to go fishing tomorrow and was disappointed when I told him I couldn't. He lives in denial, runs away from his problems and tends to go off to be by himself—going fishing or for a hike alone would be just the thing he would do if he wasn't getting loaded in a bar somewhere. Wilson is the most conscientious and careful person I know—except when he's been drinking and depressed, both of which he was this afternoon. He left very quickly and I doubt that he took into consideration the weather and how cold it gets in the mountains at night. I doubt that he was prepared for what's going on outside. If he were okay, he'd have had the sense to return to the hotel when the storm rolled in! So why don't we stop playing '20 Stupid Questions' and actually start looking for him before he ends up getting hurt or killed!"

The constable glared at him indignantly and the rose from her chair. "I'll get my sergeant." She marched away from the safety-glass enclosed reception desk into another room.

"Of course!" House growled in frustration. "Because I haven't repeated this story to you twice already so I really need to tell it over again with idiot behind door number two!"

His leg was really killing him, but he couldn't stop and care for it until he knew Wilson was safe and secure back at the hotel. Just make certain he hadn't returned in House's absence, he called the hotel. He caught Cuddy in their room. He could tell by the sound of her voice that she wasn't pleased; hell, she sounded downright pissed.

"Has Wilson returned yet?" were the first words he spoke when the phone was answered.

"Hello to you, too, Greg," Cuddy snapped. "Where are you? You're supposed to be attending the conference as a representative of the hospital, not bar hopping with Wilson-!"

"So I take it he still hasn't returned," House assumed from her diatribe with a remarkable amount of restraint for the stress he felt at that moment. "Fuck the hospital, Lisa! I've checked almost all of the bars and lounges in town and he wasn't in any of them! I think he went fishing or on a hike on impulse and since it's storming out and he hasn't returned yet I'm thinking he may be in trouble. I'm currently at the RCMP detachment here in town trying to arrange some kind of search for him!"

"Oh my god," Cuddy murmured, realizing the implications of what House was telling her. With more volume she announced, "I'll go find Sam and we'll meet you there as soon as possible!"

House swore under his breath. So the bitch Wilson had burdened himself with for a second round of torture was still soaking her pruny ass somewhere, completely unconcerned about his whereabouts, huh? He had the fleeting urge to return to the hotel, locate her in that spa and help her soak her entire head for two or three minutes; he promptly reminded himself that she wasn't worth the gasoline for the two minute drive back much less a murder charge.

"No!" he told the Dean of Medicine before she could hang up the phone. "I need the two of you to stay there in case he returns while we're searching for him."

"How are you going to accomplish that, exactly?" Cuddy asked quizzically. There are dozens of lakes within a five minute drive from here and who knows how many hiking trails. It'll take days!"

"We'd better hope it doesn't," the diagnostician told her somberly. "If he's stuck out there in the elements for any length of time he could quickly become hypothermic! That's besides the possibility that he could be sick or hurt! Gotta go."

"Greg!" Cuddy said quickly into his ear. "Be careful—I don't want to lose _two _department heads in one day!"

House was stunned for a moment; what she had just said stung him. "Of course!" he said sarcastically with hurt laced in his words. "We wouldn't the hospital to lose such valuable assets—what a loss for the _hospital_!"

Before she could respond, he hung up and stuck his cell phone back into his jacket pocket. He didn't have time to think anymore about Cuddy's words because the constable was returning to her desk, her superior officer entering with her. Instead of remaining behind the glass partition the sergeant opened a door and emerged into the waiting area. He extended a hand in greeting.

"Hello, Mr. House, is it? I'm Sergeant Grewbock," the cop told him.

House stared at the hand warily for a second before reluctantly giving it a brief shake and then letting go. "It's _Doctor_ House. I need you to set up a search for my missing friend before he dies out there!"

"Yes," Grewbock acknowledged with a nod, his smile fading quickly. "The constable apprised me about your situation. There is no waiting period before you can file a missing person's report, Dr. House so that's not a problem. However, I need to be certain that the probability of your friend being missing in the wild is a very high one before I want to start calling in the Park Ranger and organizing an emergency search. How certain are you that your friend Mr. Wilson-?"

"_Doctor _James Wilson," House corrected him quickly, cutting the cop off impatiently. "The longer he's missing the more certain I am." House explained his reason for believing Wilson was out in the elements somewhere for the third time in less than a half-an-hour. "The longer we wait here quibbling over probability tables the higher the risk is to his well-being!"

A few minutes later he was filling out the paperwork for the formal report while the cops and the Park officials were discussing the situation and making preparations for a search. They had frustrating news for House, however, which he didn't take to that entirely well.

One of the rangers explained, "It's already getting dark out there and the storm is only getting worse, not better. Since we don't know exactly where to start looking, our chance of finding him in the dark under these conditions is too small to risk the safety of my people involved. With the wind and the lightening we can't take a bird up for an aerial search, either. I'm afraid we can't begin to hunt for him tonight. We are forced to wait until sunrise."

"If he's soaking wet without shelter or proper clothing on, he'll be dead from hypothermia by sunrise!" House shouted angrily, pointing out a window for effect. "He has to be found as soon as possible!"

"I already have some of my people driving around to the various campsites and day-use areas in the area in search of him and the police have already begun to canvas the town," the park warden told him, trying to reassure him as much as he could, but it wasn't working.

House had a pretty good idea of what all Wilson would have to endure to survive the night in the wilds of the mountains. It was dangerous out there for even the best prepared person, but he knew that the oncologist couldn't have been as prepared as necessary so the danger for him was increased significantly. One thing was for certain, he wasn't going to stand around there and do nothing and hope that everything was going to be okay because he knew it wasn't. He told the park warden that in spades.

"Fine," a ranger standing nearby said, stepping forward. His badge read Ferster. "You can ride along with me, then. I'm heading out right now so if you're coming let's get a move on it!"

It wasn't necessary to say it twice—House already had his jacket back on, his cane in hand. Together they went out a back exit to the parking lot where Ferster had parked his modified Range Rover. House hauled himself into the passenger seat of the SUV as the ranger jumped behind the wheel.

"Where are we going?" the diagnostician demanded once they were on their way out of town.

"There's a series of popular lakes just outside of town. We're going to check out two of them, Lake Minnewanka and Two Jack Lake. There are campsites, day use areas and hiking trails galore in that area."

"You realize," House said to Ferster, his blue eyes flaring in silent challenge, "that I won't be satisfied with just searching campers and parking lots, don't you?"

The ranger smiled slightly as he kept his eyes on the road. "Between you and me and the walls of this vehicle, Dr. House—neither will I."

**End Part Two**


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: Scout's Honor**

**Author: **pgrabia

**Disclaimer:** House M.D., its characters, locations and storyline are the property of David Shore, Bad Hat Harry Productions and the Fox Television Network. All Rights Reserved.

**Pairing(s): **House/Wilson pre-slash (UST), starting with some House/Cuddy and Wilson/Sam (but ending up H/W.).

**A/N:** A three-part story written in response to The Tic-Tac-Toe Challenge for Camp Sick!Wilson at the Sick!Wilson community at . The locale is set in Banff National Park and the Town of Banff, Alberta, Canada. I've tried to be accurate, but even though I go there every year I am prone to making errors! If you catch any, please forgive me.

UnBeta-ed. All mistakes are completely my own.

**Spoiler Alert:** This story includes spoilers for all seasons of House M.D. up to and including Season 6 Ep. 22 "Help Me". This takes approximately two months after the events of the Season Six season finale.

**Word Count: **5996

**Rating:** **R** (to be safe) for mature themes, sexual language, coarse language, mild violence.

**Part Three**

They checked Two Jack Lake first and lucked out almost immediately when House spotted the rental car in the day-use parking lot. Pulling up next to the rental and parking, House was out of the SUV before the engine was stopped. He pressed his face up against the driver's side window and peered inside, but there were no clues to be found. While he investigated the ranger was in the back of the SUV gathering items. The rain was still coming down pretty good but not nearly as heavily as it had just ten minutes before. Still, it was enough to soak House's hair and jeans in less than a minute. The water was icy cold and House knew that if he hadn't been wearing layers on top he'd be shivering by now. The sun had set behind the mountains at least an hour ago and the temperature couldn't be more than fifty degrees; perfect conditions for hypothermia.

"So what do you think?" the diagnostician demanded of the park ranger who had donned a gear pack over a rain slicker and was holding an extra slicker out to him. "A little late for that," House told him, rejecting it.

Ferster insisted. "It'll block the wind at least. Put it on and take this flashlight!"

House took the slicker from him and put it on, pulling the hood up over his wet head. He grabbed the flashlight. "I take it we're not checking out the campsites."

"Nope," Ferster told him. "I already checked this loop before reporting to the police station. I saw this car and called it in but didn't receive any other instructions. He's not at the campsite which means he's out here somewhere. There is a main path straight ahead from here. It branches around the two kilometer mark into two less frequented paths. We'll take that trail and see if we can find any sign of him. If he was just out to vent some steam then he likely didn't take the other two trails because they have a fair number of steep inclines and would deter a casual walker.

"There's a whistle on a lanyard in the right pocket of your slicker. Put it on. Predators aren't likely to be on the prowl during the storm but there are no guarantees. That whistle can be the difference between getting lost and being killed by a bear or a wolf, or even a cougar, and walking out of these woods alive. Try to make noise as you walk so we don't come upon an animal by surprise. With predators it's usually fight rather than flight and even non-predatory animals will attack if startled or cornered. We stick together and stay on the paths at all times. Remember, I've got the radio, the GPS, the bear spray and the tranquilizer gun.

"When I say it's time to stop and turn back, we stop and turn back. No arguments! I could be in shit for being out here in weather like this after dark; if I lose you along the way I'll want to flee the country! If you stay on the path you shouldn't have to bush-whack, but be careful of the tree roots and low lying vegetation. If you start to shiver, feel dizzy or disoriented, or if you feel the urge to sit down and sleep let me know right away-."

"I'm familiar with the symptoms of hypothermia, Ferster," House told him impatiently. "Let's go already!"

The park ranger led the way at a moderate pace, obviously mindful of the fact that House's bad leg was going to make this more difficult. At regularly paced distances Ferster marked their trail with fluorescent pink tape. It reminded House of the story of Hansel and Gretel and the dropping of bread crumbs. He shook his head at himself, wondering where the hell that came from. Oh yeah. He'd read that story to Rachel before Cuddy and he had left Princeton.

The diagnostician knew he had no business hiking along mountain paths in perfect conditions, much less in the dark in a storm. The ground was wet, soft and slippery in places, undergrowth was as dangerous as myriads of trip-wire, and the terrain could be quite steep; it was the perfect breeding ground for an epic fail or two. However, House wasn't about to stop, head back to the Range Rover and wait for daylight. For all he knew, Wilson could be dead already or close to it and if he was located he would need immediate medical attention. He was in on this, for better or for worse.

They took it slowly and carefully and House had only one near fall after twenty minutes. He had lucked out so far with the terrain and for the most part it was fairly level. His leg was hurting almost as much as it had while crawling through the rubble of an office building made by the Trenton crane disaster. At least in this situation he didn't have the constant concern of the building over his head coming down suddenly on top of him and crushing him. He forced himself to ignore as much of the pain as possible, but he knew that there was a limit to how much abuse his ruined thigh could take and he was nearing it.

Ferster stopped short in front of him and swept his flashlight over vegetation off the beaten path. House added his flashlight beam to his area of concentration, wondering what it was that had alerted the ranger. As if reading his mind, the other pointed out what had caught his eye.

"Someone left the path here. See the branches, how they've been snapped? And those low-lying plants, how they look like they've been stomped on? It's all fresh. Someone headed in this direction and I'm guessing it was someone inexperienced in trail blazing."

"Sounds like Wilson," House told him grimly, trying to sound sarcastic but failing. He was too tired to crack even gallows humor at that point. "Well, let's not just stand here!"

Ferster looked at House dubiously. "Are you sure you can make it through there, Doctor? There are more hazards than what we've encountered so far."

House looked at the plant growth ahead of him and really wasn't certain that he could navigate it. He cursed his damned leg for the millionth time before setting his jaw in determination. He _had_ to make it. He was more convinced than ever that Wilson was in trouble and needed him. The diagnostician didn't know how he knew that; he just did.

"Let's go!" House told him decisively.

Ferster gave him one last glance before turning around and stepping off of the more established trail. Knowing full well that he was getting himself in over his head House followed. He was able to keep up fairly well at first, but snagged a couple of times on tree roots and hidden logs and he fell once when his cane hit a patch of wet, slippery leaves and it slid out from under him. Fortunately his pride was hurt a hell of a lot worse than his body, but it did put into question whether he could continue on much further.

Lucky for him, he didn't have to. The vegetation began to thin until they reached a clearing of some kind. House quickly identified the sounds he heard ahead; they had reached some source of running water.

"Be careful, Dr. House!" Ferster warned him abruptly, putting up a restraining arm. "The ground and rocks along the edge are extremely slippery! Stay where you are and I'll take a closer look."

This time the diagnostician didn't argue; he kept his flashlight trained on the ranger as he stepped about ten feet further and then stopped and bent down to look at something. He was flashing his light on some large rocks just along the stream's edge.

"Doctor!" Ferster called, turning to look back at House. "There's something here!" The ranger turned back to the stream and carefully crouched down; the doctor watched as the other man yanked at something that was caught trapped between the rocks. It took him a little effort to free whatever it was and then quickly brought it back to House.

"I think…I think it's a strip off of a pair of jeans," Ferster commented.

House concurred. He looked up at the ranger and nodded grimly, his heart beating hard and fast in his chest. "There's blood on it."

Ferster said nothing. There wasn't much to say.

"He fell into the stream," House's throat constricted to the point where he wasn't certain he could speak but he tried, "and got swept downstream with the current?"

Avoiding his gaze, the ranger nodded. "Looks like somebody did." He sighed. The ranger looked exhausted and there was a hint of defeat in his eyes that terrified House to see. "God only knows how far…there's no guarantee he was able to make his way to shore….Doctor, I think we've gone about as far as we can go tonight."

House didn't want to hear it; the other man was giving up on finding Wilson alive. The chances of him surviving a fall into the deceptively deep, ice cold current were decidedly slim, but the small part of House that didn't eat, breathe and sleep logic refused to admit defeat. Wilson wasn't dead, _couldn't _be dead and House wasn't ready to give up on him yet.

"We're not fucking stopping and turning back!" the diagnostician screamed in the ranger's face. "Not now! Wilson's strong; if there was any chance of him making it to dry land he did it. We've got to follow this downstream until we find him!"

"Dr. House-." Ferster began to say as he placed a hand on his shoulder in an effort to calm and comfort him.

House violently shrugged him off. "He's still alive and I'm not giving up!"

The park ranger shook his head sadly. "It's time to turn back now. If he did manage to swim to safety it could have been to either river bank. There's no way either of us is going to attempt crossing this stream, especially at night. I'll shoot you with a tranquilizer dart if you even try! _If_ he did make it to shore then we'll find him in daylight."

"He did make it!" House snarled. If he had been able to be objective for a moment he would have seen how irrational his thinking was at that moment but he wasn't so he couldn't. "He's wet and cold and could be succumbing to hypothermia; you turn back and go suck your thumb until morning! I'm heading downstream!"

House limped away, gritting his teeth against the pain from his leg; standing still for so long had caused the muscle to begin to stiffen. He didn't look back when Ferster yelled at him to stop and to come back, that it was too dangerous for him out here all alone. House knew that but he didn't give a fuck. If they didn't find Wilson soon and alive, the diagnostician didn't care what became of his own life. He'd managed to cover a meager twenty feet or so when he heard the crunch of footfall behind him. He smiled without satisfaction. It was possible that he could like this Ferster person if he so had the inclination.

House had no idea how long they had been walking after that; Ferster had taken the lead again and they'd had to stop twice for House to rest his leg for a few minutes. The pain was spiking around a seven or eight out of ten and it took everything House had not to collapse in a screaming, weeping heap. The further they went, the longer they were out, the more the hope he had of ever seeing his friend alive again waned.

So, when Ferster stopped short again and held up his hand as a signal to House, the limping man wasn't expecting what he heard the ranger say next.

"There's someone up ahead!"

House's heart stopped beating for what seemed like an eternity as his eyes tried to see what it was Ferster was pointing his beam of light on. Suddenly House dropped his cane, hurrying as quickly as he could hobble to the body lying prostrate on the forest floor. Once he reached it, House dropped to his knees, letting out a small shriek from the pain of it. He had to turn around quickly and vomit until there was nothing left in his stomach to bring up but bile. Once the nausea passed, he carefully flipped the body over and tears stung his eyes when he saw Wilson's bruised face and blue lips. He felt tears run unabated down his face. He checked for a radial pulse but couldn't find one. Next he checked for a carotid and sighed heavily in relief when he found one. It was dangerously weak and slow, as was Wilson's breathing.

"He's alive but badly hypothermic!" House told Ferster as the ranger removed his gear pack and knelt next to Wilson on the ground. They set work trying to keep the oncologist—and themselves—alive. Ferster was able to determine their position with the GPS device in his pack and was able to raise a weak signal on his radio to call for back-up help. He pulled out a large silver reflective emergency blanket; House decided that the ankle wasn't the priority even though it was a compound fracture; re-warming Wilson was. He set to work removing Wilson's soaked clothing. He removed his own clothing to the point where he was able to press his bare chest and abdomen against Wilson's and pull him into a bear hug; the younger doctor's head flopped lifelessly onto House's shoulder; the diagnostician gave a brief shiver at the feeling of the lifeless, ice cold body against his warm skin. It was like embracing a corpse.

Wilson's body temperature was so low that House wondered if he would pull through now that they had finally located him. He forced the doubts out of his head as best as he could and concentrated on sharing as much of his body heat with his friend as possible while Ferster wrapped them up securely in the thermal blanket. The ranger then set up a makeshift rain shelter using a tarpaulin, rope and a couple of trees. House talked softly into the younger man's ear, more to sooth himself than for any other reason.

"It's okay, Wilson," he said softly in his low, growly voice. "You're going to warm up and then we'll deal with everything else. If you don't keep fighting then I'm dumping your ass as my best friend! Everything is going to be okay and then things can get back to normal; I'll stalk you and annoy you to the brink of insanity and you'll be my Jewish mother and nag me until I'm ready to knock you senseless with my cane. I'll make time for you, though you may have to come over to Cuddy's if I end up having to baby-sit—God, I can't believe how lame that sounds! Wilson, I _don't_ want to be Cuddy's lap dog anymore." He was quiet for a little while. There was no sign of life from the man and House had to continue to check for his pulse and breath sounds to assure himself that the oncologist was still alive.

"Doctor," Ferster said to him, coming to sit under the shelter with them. "I was just in contact with the base. There's a rescue team on its way. They know our position so they'll be able to find us fairly easily but it might be as much as an hour yet before they arrive. They'll be carrying you and Dr. Wilson out on a gurney." The ranger nodded at Wilson. "How is he?"

"Not good," House answered tersely. "I just hope he is able to survive the hour."

"Me, too," Ferster concurred grimly and fell silent.

It was difficult to move in the cocoon the ranger had wrapped around them, But House was able to move his arms sufficiently to reach up at one point and brush strands of wet, dripping hair off of the younger man's brow, not that he was conscious to notice. It didn't matter; the older man did it anyway.

"It'll be just like old times," House continued, whispering into Wilson's ear. "We'll drink beer and eat pizza and argue over the retarded chick-flicks you force me to watch. Wait…forget the beer. You and I are going back onto the wagon together. We'll drink sodas instead. We'll figure this thing out with you and Sam and me and Cuddy. Just don't fuck things up by doing something stupid like dying. Okay? You idiot…how do you always get me mixed up in things like this…?"

House's voice broke. He tried clearing his throat but it wasn't phlegm that was impeding his ability to keep talking. He leaned his head against Wilson's and swallowed hard at the lump that had found its way to his throat. He had often wondered what it would be like to be embracing the younger man this closely, skin to skin but never had he imagined it being anything as painful and frightening as this.

"I'm only going to tell you this once, so don't forget it," House whispered softly. "I can't lose you because without you in my life I'm completely lost. Cuddy…Cuddy is just not the same. I've missed you so much these past few months. In fact, I've been…miserable. I'm sorry for neglecting you. Don't tell anyone this, but…but I wanted it to be you who came to me the night of the crane disaster. I needed you. I didn't understand then why you stayed away but after being in a relationship with Lisa for a couple of months, I think I can understand better now. It's okay. It doesn't matter anymore, it's over."

He paused to check Wilson's pulse again before speaking further. "I was so…incredibly fucked up. I clung to Cuddy when you didn't come…but I don't want to be with Cuddy; I want to be with you! I swear to god I'll seek revenge if you tell anyone about this conversation!" The diagnostician sighed. "I need you, you moron! All I have ever needed is you. I…I…l-love you. Like Romeo loves Juliet and all of that other sentimental bullshit. Maybe someday I'll be able to tell you that when you're awake and able to hear me. Until then, I'll just have to keep chasing my rivals away and drive you insane in the process. I could wait an eternity if I thought telling you would ruin our friendship worse than it already is—but I hope I won't have to."

The diagnostician hesitated only a moment before pressing a tender kiss into Wilson's wet brown hair. Beside him, Ferster had moved a little further away, not out of disgust at what he had heard but rather to give the two friends more privacy. He had his head turned, looking out into the dark, watching for the rescue team to arrive.

("~*~")

Wilson opened his eyes slowly and then clamped them shut again against the assault of light that had just hit him. He felt the presence of another person nearby and could feel someone holding his hand. He heard the typical noise of an Intensive Care unit. Every part of his body ached or stung; his head throbbed, the skin on his chest burned angrily, his stomach felt like it was on fire and his ankle bitched at him mercilessly. When he felt brave enough he attempted opening his eyes again, much slower this time. Everything was blurry and he could only make out the shape of a person sitting next to his bed. As his eyes opened further they began to focus.

He was disappointed to see who the person was. Sam Carr sat in a chair next to his hospital bed. She held his hand with one of hers and flipped the pages of the magazine she was perusing with the other. Her hand was cold and that's exactly the feeling Wilson had when he discovered that the person sitting vigil was her: cold and indifferent.

He had hoped that it would be House sitting there. He realized that the diagnostician must be with Cuddy somewhere and felt the cold claw of jealousy grip his heart.

He looked lazily at his surroundings and tried to piece together what all he could remember, which wasn't much. He remembered going on his hike and the stream. The image of the water coming at him (or rather, him falling into the water) was fairly clear as was the numbing pain from the ice cold water. He could faintly remember pulling himself on his belly onto the hard ground. Then there was nothing until a brief memory fragment of hearing House's voice in his ears. He couldn't understand what he was saying, but it was definitely his friend's voice speaking so soothingly, so unlike the way he usually spoke. He could remember the sound of a helicopter and then blackness; after that a flash of House's face staring directly down at him, his lips moving without any sound coming out of his mouth this time. He looked frightened. That was all that returned to him. He had so many questions that he wanted to ask House, not Sam—not _her_.

Just having her touch his hand made his skin crawl. He pulled his hand away, catching the blonde's attention for the first time since he had awakened. She frowned slightly, setting the magazine aside; then she turned on her big-lipped, coral-slicked phony-looking smile and the oncologist felt his stomach turn.

"Oh James!" she practically squealed. "You had me so worried! Don't ever hurt yourself like this again because next time I just don't know if I could take it-!"

"Where's House?" he demanded, frowning. His throat was sore and his voice raspy, likely from being intubated at one point. "I want to see House, now."

"He's not here," she told him. "He and Lisa went back to their hotel shortly after you arrived here. I'm sure he'll be by to see you later. In the meantime we have to discuss the details about your transfer back home once the doctors here think you're stable enough to be flown back-."

"Get a hold of the hotel right now," Wilson told her unrelentingly. "Tell House I want to see him as soon as he can get here!"

"What's the hurry, James?" Sam insisted, becoming indignant. "You'll see him. _I'm_ here with you right now. I'm your girlfriend, for Pete's sake!"

Wilson ignored her; he reached for the control panel on his bedrail and pressed the call button. Within thirty seconds a nurse appeared in his doorway.

"Well Hello!" The nurse said to him with a pleasant smile. "It's nice to see that you're awake, Dr. Wilson. How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," he answered a little more abruptly than he intended, and smiled apologetically. "I would like you to get a hold of my friend. His name is Dr. Gregory House. I'm sure he left a contact number with someone here. I need to see him right away."

"James," Sam tried to cut in but once again Wilson ignored her and cut her off.

"I would really appreciate it," he added with a warm smile, the one that had caused his share of nurses to swoon in the past.

"Certainly," the nurse answered with a smile, pointing with her thumb behind her towards the waiting room, "but Dr. Carr had him held by security-."

"James!" Sam said against much more insistently. Her eyes were as round as tea saucers and he could tell that she was extremely nervous. "That's-."

"—when he refused to leave your room," the nurse continued without pausing. "He's being held by security in the waiting area for now."

Wilson turned his head to glare pure hatred at his ex-wife. She frowned impudently and had crossed her arms in defiance upon it being found out that she had been lying to him. She looked exactly like the woman who had heartlessly dumped him twenty years ago. She hadn't changed a bit in all of that time, but in this case, to say so wasn't a compliment.

Wilson kept his angry gaze on Sam as he said to the nurse, "I want him released! He's my best friend and I want him here!"

"Of course," the nurse responded, looking at Sam with a shrewd smirk on her face before leaving the room.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the oncologist demanded of her angrily but weakly. "Where do you get off having him apprehended like that!"

"I'm your fiancée, so I think I have some say-!" Sam began to answer but Wilson's angry, spiteful laughter cut her off.

"You are _not_ my fiancée!" he spat at her viciously.

"We talked about getting remarried-!" she protested, her eyes widening.

"_You _talked about it!" Wilson told her. "_I _got drunk. You'll never be my fiancée again; you're not even my girlfriend anymore!"

"You're _dumping_ me for thinking about what was _best _for you?" the blonde shrieked indignantly.

"No," Wilson sneered in disgust. "You were only thinking about _you_, as usual. Get out of here and don't come back Sam. I have had enough of your lies and manipulation. I've been in denial of the fact that you really haven't changed like you said you have. I can't stomach you anymore! Go back to Princeton, pack up your stuff and get out of the loft; I don't want to find you still there when get home."

"But James!" she protested shrilly, rolling her eyes and speaking to him as if he were an idiot. "You're overreacting, as usual! So I lied-so _what_? I did it to protect you! Have you forgotten about the way he's _used_ you in the past?"

"If House has 'used' me, as you put it, then it's my own fault for allowing him," Wilson snapped. "I've used him too—I've been using him as my back-up plan when my ill-thought out relationships crash and burn; he deserves to be treated better by me than that and it's damned time I do!"

House had stepped into the room about fifteen seconds previously and was standing silently just inside the door, unnoticed.

"Sam," Wilson said in a very quiet but menacing tone of voice, running out of patience, "Get your bony ass out of here or I'll have security drag _you_ out! Go!"

"James," she said, shifting immediately into a conciliatory tone of voice, placing a hand on his arm. "You've just been through a terribly traumatic experience, honey, and you're not thinking rationally! Get some rest, take some time to think and I'm certain you'll come to see that you're making a mistake!"

"You're the one who is mistaken," Wilson practically growled, "if you think I'm going to change my mind. Get out or I'm ringing for the nurse to call security!" He lightly rested a finger against the call button.

She glared down at him with open-mouthed shock for a moment or two. Then she closed her mouth and scowled.

"He won't have to get security," House spoke up, startling both Wilson and Sam. He was on a pair of crutches instead of using his cane as he moved towards the woman, smiling banefully at her, his eyes gloating. "Don't let these crutches fool you-I'll drag you out myself! Say bye-bye and fly away, you filthy Harpy!"

There were tears of fury in the outer corners of Sam's eyes. She stomped a foot angrily and then strode to the door. Before she could leave, however, House stepped in her way and grinned down at her with a combination of smugness and hate.

"I told you I'd outlast you!" he murmured, his voice dripping with venom. He appeared to be enjoying every little bit of her discomfort. Sam met his gaze and scowled at him bitterly; the diagnostician stepped aside and she marched out of the room, stomping her feet like a spoiled little girl.

"I'm so proud of you!" House told the oncologist with a sardonic smirk—but his brilliant blue eyes were smiling at him. "I suppose this wouldn't be a good time to say that I told you so?"

Wilson couldn't resist smiling and shook his head. "Not really. I'm grateful for your restraint."

"No problem," House replied, taking the seat that Sam had just vacated. "This is the smartest thing you've done in months!"

"I think you're right—again. God I hate it when you're right!" Wilson exclaimed, shaking his head.

"No wonder why you're miserable," the older doctor told him smugly. "I'm always right!"

Wilson chuckled and stared at his friend fondly; House's eyes softened when they caught his gaze and held it. They sat there silently like that for a few moments until the younger doctor spoke.

"I'm sorry," he told his friend sincerely. "I should have listened to you. Instead, I pushed you away. I'm a stupid ass!"

"Yes," House agreed mildly, nodding. "You are. But look on the bright side."

"What bright side?" Wilson asked quizzically. As far as he could see, there wasn't a bright side to the disaster that was his relationship with Sam.

"You didn't marry her again, so she can't bleed you dry in another nasty divorce," the older man quipped. Wilson smirked ruefully at that.

"Yeah," the younger man sighed, "lucky me." He looked House in the eyes, forcing a smile onto his lips and knowing as he did that it wouldn't fool him. "Where exactly am I, anyway?"

"Foothills Hospital in Calgary," the diagnostician answered. "You were stabilized as best as possible in Banff and then rushed by air ambulance here. You arrested mid-flight; it's a good thing you have a stubborn bastard for a friend."

"I know," Wilson told him softly; he _was_ lucky. "At least that explains why my chest feels like it's on fire."

"You smell like Hickory-smoked Jew," House joked, amused with himself.

Wilson chuckled again and then moaned. Apparently he had a damaged rib or two as well.

"So where's Cuddy?" the oncologist asked, trying to sound nonchalant but the truth was the mere thought of her triggered intense feelings of jealousy; He didn't even try to deny it. He was in love with House; he knew that admitting he was addicted to the diagnostician was the first step to recovery—not that he wanted to recover from that particular problem. If only House felt the same way, but it was ridiculous to even hope for that.

House took a breath and filled his cheeks with air before blowing it out. "She took the first available flight home this morning. She's probably already there." His voice sounded even more somber than he looked.

"Everything okay?" the oncologist asked cautiously, sensing that everything was not.

"Depends on how you look at it," was the answer. "If you're referring to things between Lisa and me being okay, then no. If you're referring to things with me in general, then…yeah, surprisingly they are."

"Oh," Wilson said, looking down at his blanket thoughtfully. He couldn't help but feel a little bit of guilty pleasure at hearing that. "What happened?"

"Oh, nothing much," House told him and Wilson saw a gleam develop in his eyes. "She just happened to hear me say something to you while you were still in your coma that she didn't like."

Frowning in confusion, the younger man asked, "And what was that?"

House sighed, looking a little sheepish and reluctant to answer. "I…was telling you that…that…," he sighed again and licked his lips nervously. He reached over suddenly and grabbed Wilson's hand, holding it gently, catching the younger man by surprise. The pianist's long-fingers entwined with his; House's hands were moist and trembling slightly.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, the diagnostician began again, "I said that I wasn't in love with her because…because I'm in love with…y-you." Shy, almost fearful blue orbs searched Wilson's brown ones pleadingly. They said, 'Please don't hate me now!'

Relief and joy washed over Wilson like a giant, warm and comforting wave. He felt his eyes sting and had to blink back the tears that were forming there. He knew House would never let him live it down if he began to cry. He had no words to describe what he was feeling, and even if he had, he didn't think he could speak them.

"Wow," was all Wilson was able to utter, unable to tear his eyes away from the older man's face.

"That's it?" the diagnostician asked incredulously, his voice quavering. "I tell you that I'm in love with you-probably for the last time in your lifetime, by the way-and all I get is 'wow'?"

House suddenly rose from his chair, looking like he was going to bolt, but Wilson refused to let go of his hand.

"Don't go! Please! I just never thought I'd ever hear you say those words and especially not to me," Wilson told him quickly. "House, I…I-I'm in love with you, too! Oh my god!" The oncologist looked away, shaking his head.

The older man's body visibly relaxed and he started to breathe again. He sat again.

"Yeah,' House replied softly, appearing to be as stunned as the oncologist felt, slowly sitting down again, "I know. It's…fucking mind-blowing, isn't it?"

Wilson nodded in agreement. After a moment he asked, "So what do we do now?"

House half-smiled. "I was hoping _you_ would know."

"How would _I_ know?" Wilson asked quizzically. "I've never been in love with my male best friend before!"

"Oh, yeah," House said softly and then shrugged. "I guess we just go with the flow. We've got a couple of days to get used to this before you're strong enough to fly home. Hell, we've been practically married for years now; half of everybody we know already thinks we're gay, so we _should_ be able to work things out quickly enough."

Nodding, Wilson squeezed House's hand. He sensed fear coming from the older man and he wanted to address it right away. "Are you afraid…that if we…become intimate…that it will fail and we'll destroy our friendship?

House nodded slowly,swallowing. "Yeah," he confessed, whispering, "I am."

"Me, too," the oncologist agreed. "But we don't _know_ that it will. We've already been through a lot together…maybe this is the right one for both of us. Maybe everything that's happened up to now has been preparing us for…_us_. I don't want to run away from what could be the greatest thing to ever happen to me based on a bunch of what ifs…do you?"

"No," the diagnostician replied. "Jesus…Wilson, fuck, I don't know how to say this without coming off as a total asshole!"

"That's never stopped you before," Wilson retorted drolly. He was trying to appear confident, but this was beginning to make him very nervous. Was this where his best friend told him that he had changed his mind and was going to try to salvage things with Cuddy after all?

"I'm not kidding." House closed his eyes for a moment and seeing the internal conflict inside of him appearing externally the younger man realized just how serious he was.

"Just tell me," he told the older man, almost pleading with him.

It took several moments before House was able to speak and when he did, it was tentatively, like at any moment he expected Wilson to fly into a range and never speak to him again. "I want to believe it would be different with us, but…shit, Wilson! I couldn't handle it if you-!"

"—If I cheated on you," Wilson finished for him, feeling nausea wash over him and churn up his stomach. He understood House's hesitation in bringing it up; it had always been a touchy subject for him, but the oncologist couldn't fault him for worrying about that. His past history didn't speak well for him, he knew; but in spite of that he _knew_ that things would be different with House. Amber was to thank for that, actually. She had shown him that he _was_ capable of being in a relationship where he didn't have to let resentment build to the point where he retaliated by being unfaithful. They had only been together a few months, but she'd forced him to stop being such a doormat with her and to be more assertive. House was able to do the same thing. He knew he could respond differently with House and still be accepted by him.

"Yeah," House whispered, looking away.

"Look at me, House," the younger man said to him without anger and waited until his best friend did until he continued. "The difference with you is that…that for years you've cared for me when I've been a jerk, you've accepted me in spite of every rotten thing you know about me. Whenever you've jumped down my throat, I knew in the back of my mind that it was because…because you didn't want to see me make the same mistakes over and over again-because you cared. You've forgiven me when I haven't deserved to be forgiven. You've accepted me for who I am, not for who you want to make me and you don't allow me to become complacent, bored and then resentful. You push me to the point of breaking…but you're always there to support me and keep me from completely falling apart. Nobody—nobody—has ever loved me for me, except you. Somehow, I know that's what's going to make things different for us."

House's eyes were as close to tears as Wilson had seen them outside of those times when he would sob from the torturous agony in his leg. This was not to say that the older man was about to cry, but there was a gratefulness, a hint of genuine affection that Wilson hadn't been exposed to before now and he could help but feel privileged to be the one to see it.

"Okay," House said simply, allowing a hopeful smile cross his lips. Leaning in towards Wilson until their faces were nearly touching House sighed and then hesitated only a moment before briefly caressing the younger man's lips with his; he pulled back and searched Wilson's face for a reaction.

Smiling softly, Wilson released his grip on House's hand and brought it up to rest at the base of his best friend's skull; he gently pulled the older man's face in for another kiss, only this one was deeper and lingered. Wilson could feel the diagnostician smile against his mouth and kiss back passionately, his hands coming to gently cradle the younger man's face. Wilson was the first to slide his tongue into House's willing mouth but soon both sliding and caressing over each other's. Running out of breath, Wilson withdrew, panting lightly and resting his forehead against House's.

House was also breathing heavier than normal, smiling ever so slightly.

Wilson whispered. "_Damn_, you're a good kisser!"

House rolled his eyes, "Could you sound any gayer?" he asked sarcastically. He paused a moment before becoming serious. "You need help, Wilson-your drinking has to stop. I don't want to start something only to have you kill yourself with booze. I need you."

Wilson pulled back but still kept his hand resting on the back of House's neck. He nodded slowly. "I know…but I'm scared." It was a hard confession for him to make, even to himself, but what the hell? All sorts of confessions were being made between the two of them today.

"Good," House replied with a single nod. "That means you care. Chase tried to get me to go to A.A. meetings with him a while back but I never went. We can go together."

Nodding the oncologist frowned slightly. "Chase is an alcoholic?"

"He's definitely an abuser," House answered. "I don't know if he was actually dependent, though. I got out of him that it started just before Cameron left and then got worse thereafter. He realized one day that it was becoming a problem and started attending. I think that going would be wise for both of us."

"Okay," Wilson whispered with a half-shrug, "we'll go."

His eyes smiling in satisfaction and relief House asked, "You promise?"

Wilson smirked, raising two fingers in salute. "Scout's honor."

Scowling suspiciously, House said, "I remember you telling me that you were never a Boy Scout."

Wilson shrugged. "I never was, but I'll go with you to A.A. anyway."

House grinned as he leaned in for another kiss.

**~Fin~**


End file.
